


Forgiveness

by ceruleanshark



Series: Dark Lords of Arda [14]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I'm in a weird place emotionally don't judge me, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Up, War of Wrath, Weird ainu telepathy, look I wrote angsty-ish fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 22:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleanshark/pseuds/ceruleanshark
Summary: Mairon and Melkor resolve their past differences in the last months of the War of Wrath.





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my friends on Discord, as always! Hopefully this is up to standard.

Mairon approached the throne, robes whispering over the carpet. Melkor looked distant, eyes glassy and unfocused. The spark Mairon had grown used to was gone. It had been for some time.

He knelt on the carpet below the dais that held his lord's throne. “I come to report, my liege.” The words felt foreign and cold as they fell from his lips. 

It took Melkor too long to respond. He turned his gaze down to look upon the Maia. “What news do you bring?”

“They're closing in. The hosts of the Valar are vast, far more than we had imagined. Our captains say that we need to redirect some of our troops to flank them, but that would sacrifice defense.” Mairon didn't dare to rise from his position, staring intently at the stone steps leading up to Melkor's throne.

“Tell them to come discuss this with me in the morning. The hour is late.” Mairon could feel Melkor's gaze burning into him. “This matter should not wait.” He advised, standing slowly.

“I said they can consult with me tomorrow, lieutenant.” Melkor's voice gained a dangerous edge. Red light briefly pulsed in Mairon's eyes despite his calm expression. “I would recommend going over it now. A delay in changing position could result in losses on our part. And keeping them all clustered here is risky.”

Melkor sighed deeply, annoyance flashing across his face. “Mairon. Not now. They are soldiers. They fight for us. Some will die no matter what we do. Besides, moving troops from the stronghold is...inadvisable.” His eyes glimmered with possessiveness as he spoke the last words, and Mairon was struck by a realization sinking into his heart like a shard of ice.

“Those cursed gems of Fëanor's have made you paranoid.” He accused, inwardly wincing at his own forwardness.

Melkor tensed in his throne. “They are mine. After all we have worked through to acquire them, I wish to keep them that way.” Mairon folded his arms, standing squarely before the dark Vala. “You have people here, Melkor. Umaiar and orcs and dragons, who also need your protection. Are you willing to sacrifice them for a handful of gems?”

“Do not twist my words.” Melkor rumbled. “I have been through much because of the Silmarils. Do you think I desire to have them torn from me?”

“What about your people? We have lost so many lives because of the Silmarils. Do we need to lose more?” Mairon kept his voice calm, despite the rage boiling up in his chest. 

“I will do what it takes to keep these gems. They are precious to me.” Melkor looked so utterly impassive. It made Mairon feel sick.

“These are our people. We worked so hard for this. And you are willing to tear it down over the creation of some damned Noldo.” He knew he had to hold his ground, but every word broke his heart.

“I thought they were your first priority.” Mairon stared up at him, eyes cold. “They do.” Melkor responded.

“Then why are you willing to send them out to die over your gems?” He spat. “You are not the Vala I fell in love with.”

Melkor recoiled as if struck. “Mairon--” He began. The Maia turned and hurried out of throne room, robes billowing behind him as he darted out the massive marble doors and made for the staircase.

He choked back a sob when he realized he had instinctively began to flee to Melkor's chambers. 

It took all his strength to turn away, but he forced himself to a side corridor and out towards the opulent war-room where he spent most of his days. He had begun sleeping there several weeks ago--or had it been months? He could not remember the exact day he had stopped sharing his master's bed for good.

He entered the room and locked the heavy door behind him, blinking in the relative darkness. He wandered over towards the window and flopped down on the plush seat beside it. He had been sleeping on the broad couch since he had begun leaving Melkor's quarters. He kicked the blankets aside in a brief surge of frustration, then tucked his knees to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut.

“It's not the same.” Mairon whispered to himself. His reflection stared back at him from the glass, wavering on the dark surface. Tonight the clouds covered the stars. They never seemed to part now.

“He's not the same.” Tears threatened to spill over, but he bit his lip resolutely. “He is stricken by the Silmarils.” His words echoed in the empty chamber. 

Mairon tried to work up the energy to feel angry, vengeful, jealous, anything, but all that was left was the hollow sadness. The Melkor he loved seemed as out of reach as the stars behind their veil of smoke.

He rested his forehead on the window. The cold made him feel a little less like spun glass, a little further from falling apart. 

He spent far too long like that, eyes closed and face pressed to the window, ignoring the maps and paperwork scattered on the oaken tables behind him. The room felt stifling. He traced invisible patterns on the window with delicate fingertips.

He nearly didn't catch the sound of the door opening behind him, or the footsteps on the stone floor. He didn't react when he felt Melkor's presence, or when he sat down behind him on the window seat.

:I am sorry.: His mind touched Mairon's, delivering the words without a sound. Mairon ignored him, staring resolutely out at the clouded-over fortress. 

Then Melkor began to hum, a tune that resonated with Mairon’s entire being. His very fëa responded, flickering like a candle in the wind as Melkor sang softly. The ancient words echoed through him, all in the earliest form of black speech--the one they had created together in Utumno, huddled by a fire and surrounded by scrolls and inkpens.

Into the song was woven regret, sincerity, and love so intense it took Mairon's breath away. Without meaning to, he locked his eyes with Melkor's and hesitantly hummed a few notes.

The Vala's eyes lit up and he took his hand. Through the haze of their joining, Mairon noticed the absence of the Silmarils illuminating Melkor's face. His crown sat abandoned on the table, gems gleaming ignored in the iron. Their song swelled, Mairon slowly joining in and letting his fëa entwine fully with his.

:I am sorry. I was wrong. You were right. I need you. I miss you. I love you. I love you. I love you.: Mairon felt his heart beat faster as he realized each thought was true, undeniably so. He was connected to Melkor's very being, hearing his truths. Tears trickled down his face at the rawness of it.

:I am yours. You are mine.: He responded simply. It was his truth, as unshakeable as Melkor's. He grasped his hands tightly, turning to let himself collapse against him.

The usual chill was banished from Melkor's body. His skin was pleasantly warm beneath Mairon's touch. Their fëar sparked and burned as they melded together.

Mairon let his lips meet Melkor's for the first time in too long. It felt more natural and right than he could have ever remembered. 

He was vaguely aware that they were glowing, illuminating the room with soft light from their place by the large window. 

They lay like that for hours, the night wearing on, war preparations continuing unheeded by the pair. Apologies passed without a word being spoken. They kissed lazily or fiercely by turns. Mairon let Melkor see his being, his every vulnerability, his every emotion. Melkor, in turn, laid his fëa open for Mairon, letting his Maia know the sincerity of his apology.

Finally, in an early hour of the morning, their connection faded and burned out. Mairon felt light-headed in his master's arms, sprawled limp across his chest.

Melkor's eyes shone brightly as he gently pressed a kiss to Mairon's forehead. Mairon smiled up at him, suddenly emboldened. “May I have you tonight, master?” He whispered, lips warm against Melkor's neck.

“Always, precious. I am yours.” Melkor returned his smile before leaning down to capture his lips in a soft kiss.

They were slow and gentle that night, whispering promises and affirmations to each other. Their fëar remained thoroughly tangled together, not shifting except to be ensnared tighter. 

Dawn found them both still awake, lying in each other's arms as the rising sun filtered through the heavy clouds. Hazy light spilled over the blankets draped haphazardly over their entwined forms.

“Melkor.” Mairon was in a curious state, halfway between sleep and wakefulness, mind drifting in and out of dreams. He fumbled with his lord's name, his mind feeling foggy.

“Mairon.” Melkor held his hand tightly, never wanting to let him go. 

“We have to get up today...there's work…” Mairon was cut off by a finger gently pressing to his lips. “Hush, Mairon. You have done so much for us. Your plans, your diagrams, your ideas--they can be implemented by Gothmog as he sees fit. Thuringwethil can aid him.”

“But I should supervise it.” He protested weakly. Melkor shook his head. “No, little flame. They are your ideas. They are brilliant. If you cannot win the coming battles, no one can.” He sounded absolutely resolute, adamant in his decision.

“Stay.” Melkor spoke softly, kissing his neck. Mairon clung to him tighter. “I never want to leave.” He admitted.

“No matter what happens, I will be with you, precious. I will always return to your side.” Melkor slid a finger under his chin, prompting Mairon to meet his eyes. 

“You speak as though you will be defeated. We have Ancalagon, master.” Mairon muttered. Melkor half-smiled, gaze sad. “I want you to know. None can predict how this war may turn.”

Mairon's heart fluttered at his smile. Resting his head on Melkor's bare chest, he gave his hand an insistent squeeze. “Can you take me to see the stars again one day?” He asked quietly.

“When the war is over and I can part the clouds concealing us. Then I will take you up to fly through the night as we once did. I will create the auroras for you, though their light pales in your splendor.” Melkor promised. He cradled Mairon closer, holding him gently.

“I hold you to your word.” Mairon smiled, soft golden light shimmering beneath his pale skin. Melkor laughed lightly. “And I shall be true to it.”

 

 

Mairon did not know how desperately he would cling to those words in the coming days.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are my lifeblood


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